


treading in the steps already marked

by liginamite



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:31:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liginamite/pseuds/liginamite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new string of murders has multiple bodies sewn together in grisly ways that give Jack the chance to test out his brand spanking new medical examiner. And of course it's never easy for a new employee to jump head first into a job before he's gotten the chance to get to know everyone.</p><p>Incidentally, when Jimmy and Brian first officially met, it was less “love at first sight” and more “why is the new guy asleep on my couch.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	treading in the steps already marked

**Author's Note:**

> i originally started writing the first chapter a looooong time ago as a one-shot for a post that was going around tumblr and then as i was getting ready to finish it up for the rare pair fest for WHATEVER REASON my brain was like "do you know what would be a good idea. a CASE FIC." so now here i am. with a case fic. how could this happen to me etc. etc.
> 
> thank you to jay for cheerleading me as usual and also for hosting this whole fest! it's been fun. :D and also to the preller network because they're all a bunch of darlings.
> 
> EDIT: 3/28/16: uhhhh i'll publish the rest of this fic one day, probably. if anyone still has any interest?

_I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe._ -Mary Shelley

-

Jimmy's got a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, waiting for a reply from Bev. She's always prompt to deliver, and sure enough he gets three words that about sum up the situation at hand: _oh my god_

In front of him, Zeller snuffs gently into the couch cushion and rolls over, one hand dangling nearly to the carpet and the other shoved up and around one of the decorative pillows. He seems very comfortable, and thank whoever’s listening that he kicked his shoes off before evidently throwing himself down onto the couch.

Jimmy takes a sip of his coffee.

Now, logically he could go a few different routes with this situation. Most people would call the police, but this is very obviously not the sort of break-in the police are interested in. He's got the cute new guy on his couch, clearly about to suffer from a massive hangover if the faint aroma of whiskey clinging to the leather jacket is anything to go by. He could give him some pills and some water to nurse himself back to health with and then send him on his way. Or, of course, Jimmy could take the far more characteristic path and never let him live it down. The boy would weep with it for the rest of his days in the FBI. It's not a particularly hard decision, of course, but Jack will kill him if he drives away the supposedly sharpest new medical examiner in the field. 

Francisca's curled up in the small of Zeller's back, her tail waving gently back and forth as she blinks slowly, clearly comfortable. Jimmy hasn't seen Buddy since he first woke up, which should've been his first hint that something was wrong in the apartment. Buddy doesn't take to visitors well, much less someone that appears to have crawled in through the window in the middle of the night. Zeller's lucky Buddy didn't claw his eyes out. 

His phone buzzes in his hand and he takes a look, coffee mug still to his lips. Bev's not done yet, it seems, and her next question is one that Jimmy has admittedly been contemplating since he first walked into his living room this morning.

_so what’re you gonna do? don't leave me hanging_

He has to weigh the options, really, and with a sigh hobbles back into his kitchen with a huge yawn, setting his mug down and rustling through one of the cabinets for a bottle of painkillers. _guess i'll help the little lamb out_ , he shoots back, and he can almost see Bev's eyeroll. 

_you’re such a cranky old softie_

He runs the faucet, fills a glass, and by the time he's back out to the living room, Zeller's shifted and Francisca's running into the kitchen with her tail in the air. 

There's a bemusement to Zeller's movements as he moans into the couch cushion and lifts red-rimmed eyes to look around. Jimmy watches from the archway between living room and kitchen, swirling the glass of water a little. It’s a countdown, really, and finally he watches as Zeller’s motions shift from “oh I’m somewhere I’m usually not when I wake up” to “I have literally no idea, even a little, as to where I am.” It’s almost funny, honestly. 

Scratch that, it’s hilarious.

“Um,” are the first words out of Zeller’s mouth, and God, Jimmy just _has_ to fuck with him.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says loudly, with just the right amount of cheer, and Zeller yelps, turning to look at him with such horror writ on his expression that were he a different sort of man Jimmy would feel bad about it. As it is he just beams, holding out the glass of water and the bottle of Ibuprofen as a peace offering. “Looks like someone went a little overboard last night, hmm?” 

Zeller looks around again, eyes wide, and immediately rolls onto his back and digs into his pants pocket. He pulls out a phone and swipes furiously at the screen for a couple of seconds before he glances up again.

“8311 River Street?” he squeaks.

“8312.”

“Oh my god.” Zeller’s voice has gone another notch higher, and he instantly jumps off of the couch, nearly tumbling down in his haste. Jimmy snorts. “Oh, god, I’m so--I’m a lot of things, actually, but mostly right now I’m embarrassed and sorry, I’m really, really sorry that I--I broke into your apartment. Oh, hell, I broke into your _apartment_ \--”

“It’s fine,” Jimmy says, amused, as Zeller flaps his hands and apologizes roughly five more times in a row, struggling to pull his jacket on so he can presumably run away with his tail between his legs. “Honestly, you ought to count your lucky stars that it was me and not some, oh, I don’t know, six-four monstrosity with a shotgun and an attack dog.” As if to prove his point, Francisca reappears and winds herself around Zeller’s legs, trilling happily. He stares at her for a long moment and then claps both hands over his face. 

“Rich doesn’t have a cat,” Zeller moans into his palms, like it’s some great revelation.

“And a lot of good she does, hmm?” Jimmy shakes his finger at her when she mewls up at him. “Why didn’t you stop this scoundrel from breaking in?”

“I’m sorry,” Zeller says again, sounding small, “for that, by the way. Uh, if that wasn’t clear by this point.” 

Jimmy gives him a wry look, sizes him up for a moment, and decides that regardless of whether or not Zeller can handle it, he’s going to get mocked for it.

“Honestly, Zeller, if you wanted in my apartment, all you had to do was buy me dinner first,” he says, and holds out both glass and bottle, enjoying the flush that creeps up Zeller’s ears as he takes both. “Take those, you look like hell ran you over with a freight train.” 

“I just, I thought this was my friend’s apartment, he told me to come over last night,” Zeller explains, not opening the bottle, and now that he’s apologized enough it’s clear he’s starting to move in on the defense. Jimmy finds it amusing, endearing even, especially given that he could still presumably file some sort of lawsuit for breaking and entering. Not that he would, but the threat could still stand if he feels like it. 

“I’m sure he did. You seem like the kind to come calling in the middle of the night,” Jimmy says, wiggling his eyebrows, and Zeller turns a deeper shade of red. Almost immediately he starts to stutter out a response, eyes wide.

“That’s--what are you--no, I’m--that’s--”

Now he just looks angry in between each failed sentence, and if ever there were a time for Jimmy to acquiesce, now would be the time, he supposes. No good to have Jack on his ass for cultivating negative inter-work relationships before the new guy’s even got a picture on his desk. 

“He told me to come over because I was _drunk_ ,” Zeller snaps, sounding furious and equally embarrassed, and Jimmy tries very hard not to laugh. _Remember Jack's Angry Face_ , he thinks.

“Oh, he did? What a good friend.” Jimmy cocks his head. “And why, exactly, were you so drunk that you couldn’t tell simple numbers apart?”

Zeller sighs loudly and stares up at the ceiling, his brow furrowed. “My friends and I were… celebrating.” His voice turns sheepish. “My new job at the FBI, I mean.” 

“And what a way to end the night!” Jimmy says brightly, clapping his hands together. “Breaking and entering into your wonderful and _forgiving_ coworker’s apartment. Aren’t you lucky.” He considers mentioning that there are several other employees that would’ve had a far worse outcome--Jack, for example, or worse case scenario, Bev. She would’ve maced the eyes out of the poor boy.

Zeller mumbles something.

“I’m sorry?” 

A quick throat clear, an inhale, and Zeller looks at him from under his eyelashes, cheeks still pink. “I said, uh, I _could_ buy you that dinner. To make up for climbing in through your window.”

Jimmy opens his mouth to answer, processes the words, and snaps it shut again. For the first time, in a very long time and _especially_ during this conversation, he’s been rendered speechless. For a moment they just stare at each other, and the air gets heavy with it the silence.

Zeller seems to have noticed this, because he puffs up his chest and says loudly, “I mean, it’s just a joke. Obviously.” 

Mentally shaking himself, Jimmy gives him the most award-winning smile he can muster. “Well, you could, but I figured now that we’ve already jumped clear over the ‘sleeping over’ threshold, we could move straight onto the ‘sleeping together’ part, if you get my drift.”

“It’s hard to miss it,” Zeller snaps, and Jimmy can’t help but laugh at the deep red of his cheeks and ears. 

“I’m only teasing you. Lighten up a little.” Jimmy leans against the frame that connects his living room to his kitchen, crossing his arms and grinning like that cat who got the cream. There’s a vague awkward silence in the room--vague in that it’s really only awkward on Zeller’s part, since Jimmy’s still pretty much drinking all this in with delight, previous surprise carefully tucked away for future perusal. 

A loud buzz sends Zeller jumping, and then fumbling in his pocket to pull his phone back out.

“Jack needs me to come in and check out a body,” Zeller mumbles, staring at his phone and then looking away. It’s clear in every tense muscle that he wants to bolt, clearly thankful for the way out, and Jimmy figures he might as well send him off on a good note. He flaps his hand dismissively, “go on, go do your new job,” and Zeller turns to leave with a much more noticeable sigh of relief than he was obviously going for.

At that moment, in his pajama pocket, Jimmy’s phone also buzzes. They both look at the source, and then slowly their eyes slide up to meet before a grin nearly splits Jimmy’s face and Zeller hurries of the room with a red face and a scowl. 

“See you at work!” Jimmy calls cheerfully after him, wiggling his fingers, and the door slams rather hard.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr at [donytello](http://donytello.tumblr.com)! :D


End file.
